Pain is Beauty
by cafenera
Summary: The title says it all...


Title: Beauty is Pain  
Author: chamomile chick  
Fandom: Highlander  
Rating: PG  
Author's Note: Exam week, blowing off steam. But seriously, haven't you ever  
wondered about this?  
  
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She isn't a wimp, she tells herself.   
  
After living over a thousand years, and going through more pain – emotional and   
physical, than anyone ever should, she isn't weak.  
  
She's been shot, stabbed, hung, burned, and drowned, and walked away from it all  
complaining about what it did to her wardrobe.  
  
Yet she can't bring herself to pierce her own ears, this time.  
  
She's done it hundreds, maybe thousands of times before. (She's ALWAYS   
enjoyed accessorizing.)  
  
She curses the few immortal women (and men) who were lucky enough to have their   
ears pierced before their first deaths – they don't have to deal with this every morning.  
  
She stares at her reflection, ignoring the blank look in her eyes.  
  
Duncan, the bastard, laughs at her when she dawdles over this. At least, he did   
until she convinced him to try.  
  
Ha. That was an amusing afternoon. The noble Highlander, with a gold hoop earring   
in one ear. Hopping around the apartment, trying to get it out while she was doubled   
over laughing.  
  
Needless to say, he now remains silent lest a certain photo fall into the hands of   
Richie – or worse, somehow make it into his chronicles.  
  
"AMANDA! Aren't you ready yet?" The voice comes all the way from the front of the   
apartment: maybe not completely silent.  
  
-Just a minute,- she thinks. –Just another minute and I'll be there.- But she stays  
silent, her eyes not leaving their reflections.  
  
Her hands rise, almost on their own to her right ear. But she goes no further.   
There's something to be said about hurting yourself on purpose; it's never a good sign.   
She's been there, done that, in much more serious circumstances. And despite the levity   
of her current actions, there's always a little voice in the back of her head, warning   
her that each time she's hurt by her own hands, it's one more step down a darker and   
darker path.  
  
With a knock on the door, her hands automatically push the backing through, not wanting   
to be caught in a vulnerable position, regardless of who's on the other side. The   
pinching sensation ends soon enough, and she realizes that she must look crazy, standing   
in front of the mirror with one earring on, and a scared look on her face.   
  
She turns to face the door and opens it a crack to peer out. "Just a second, Duncan!   
Can't a girl take the time to look good?"  
  
She shuts the door quickly, so that he won't suspect anything.  
  
She hears muttering. Something about how much his tickets cost.  
  
That man really should learn that he really is easy to hear when he speaks under   
his breath.  
  
She looks in the mirror.   
  
The earring is slightly off; in her haste, she missed the center of the lobe.  
  
Taking it out is much simpler.  
  
She rinses it off, and raises her hands once more to her ear. By now, the little   
electric magic has done its job and she's completely healed.  
  
She freezes, the curses.  
  
She'll go without. It's just one of those nights.   
  
Although rare, Amanda does have contemplative, even depressed, episodes, and this happens  
to be one of them.  
  
She steps out of the bathroom and Duncan raises his head from where it'd been resting on   
his hands.  
  
"Amanda! You look great. Now let's get going."  
  
She smiles in thanks and walks over to where their coats are hanging from the walls. It's   
a warm night, but there's nowhere to fit the damn sword in secretly with what she's wearing.  
  
The whole night is spent feeling slightly off-balance. She knows it's the earring thing and   
tries to dismiss it as silly, but can't. Duncan notices her twitching, and asks what's   
wrong, but she says nothing.  
  
She hates feeling off-kilter. It's part of her thing; she's always put together, always   
the one who's not affected by events.   
  
She wonders if mood swings from pregnancy are like this.   
  
No. Not going there. That topic is a minefield, and not to be dealt with in company, and   
not tonight.  
  
No, the best ways to deal with things like this are physically demanding. Sex, sword fighting,   
or stealing something.  
  
But when she's in a bad mood or with Duncan, none of these are a good idea. She'll end up   
feeling guilty for using him, losing her head, or getting thrown in jail for the next few   
centuries or so.  
  
So she spends the ride back to the barge in silence, Duncan, for once, allowing her to brood.  
  
Getting undressed and into bed go the same way. Her right ear still tingles, and although   
she knows it's imaginary, she can feel the invisible earring unbalancing her.  
  
She lies still, hoping the morose feeling will go away tomorrow. It's all very well to   
have a broody day every few decades or so, but if it remains, desperate measures will be   
called upon.   
  
Either an unsolicited visit to the Louvre or an all-day session of mind-blowing sex will do it.   
  
If she doesn't feel better when she wakes up, Duncan's going to have a day to remember.   
  
The End  
  



End file.
